<html> <p>When Hunter passed I ordered his collection Sentinel. Probably haven't seen it in twenty years and never really read the work.</p><p>Sure Hunter published all his books and poems online, from his <a href=“http://www.hunterarchive.com/files/majorlinks.html”>own website,</a> before people knew what online meant but I like to read poetry on the shitter.</p><p>Right off the top you realize how different and same Hunter's poetry taste when the the words hit your tongue.</p><p>Same cascading truths peaking from cracks in the soul that we dig from deep within the earth but the poetry more sparse.</p><p>Hunter writes with many dichotomies and paradigms. A style, I realize, I emulate, but I never deeply studied his poetry like I have his lyrics.</p><p>In <a href=“http://www.hunterarchive.com/files/Poetry/Sentinel.html#s25”>Blue Moon Alley</a> fo example,</p><blockquote><p>Why do I think</p><p>I remember you</p><p>by another name I heard</p><p>or somehow knew</p></blockquote><p>A ton of this almost understanding at the knife edge of reality seemse to ooze from Hunter's poem.He finds a lot of the mundane in the fanstasticak.</p><p>For example , returnign to Blue Moon Alley,</p><blockquote><p>We read & talk</p><p>as stars fail & gravity traps</p><p>the beams of</p><p>collapsing suns.</p></blockquote><p>You will find a lot of reminders of how small humanity's grand schemes look in the face of cosmic dancing.</p><p>A lot of San Fransisco and France, places Hunter lived, get mixed with imagery of kings, and queens, and homeless. Plus a bit of annoyance at whomever he spent time with at the time of writing. The recluse comes out in verse.</p><p>The poem <a href=“http://www.hunterarchive.com/files/Poetry/Sentinel.html#s28”>Growing</a></p><pre>Growing
One night with falling stars the other man in the moon suddenly rediscovered–
Recognition of a flavor out of seventh summer only to forget everything we're made of
Stars, baby
Who made common cause with the elements? Called iron his neighbor; could say of gold: I knew her as a child.
He is risen! Holding his breath, standing quickly without blacking out, he glides through the playground gate at twilight looking for empty bottles he can cash for deposit. </pre><p>This poem captured all the elements I loved in the work. The local observations, the conflation and exploration of space, and the construction of new realities reflect much of Hunter's other work.</p><p>Hunter also writes long story like poetry. In fcat he has some collections published as single poems. These take longer to digest and may not tickle the tastebuds of everyone's ear.</p><p>Overall I highly recommend this work.</p><p> </p>
<p style="font-style: italic; text-align: right;">By Robert Hunter</p></html>